


so many glories in store

by Magpied_Spider



Category: Bend It Like Beckham (2002)
Genre: Ensemble Cast, F/F, Football | Soccer, canon-typical homophobia (i.e. jules's mum), momentary shakespearian references, they literally kiss on-screen why is nobody talking about this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8116813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpied_Spider/pseuds/Magpied_Spider
Summary: “How could you be all respectful here with your lot,” she was getting louder, the crowd that had gathered for the wedding were starting to take notice, “when I know you’ve been kissing my daughter in broad daylight!”The big game, and the fallout.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from UB2, from the bend it like beckham musical. _Saturday morning in Southall Broadway / So many glories in store._

It was completely unfair that Jess couldn’t be here - some sort of great, cosmic injustice.

After all that she’d been through - the unreasonability of her family, having to sneak out to practice - and all that _they’d_ been through together - from the very beginning all the way to Germany, that ref who’d carded her for reacting to the sort of insult that should not be borne, rather than carding the girl who’d given it…

Joe had said that he’d just tried to smooth it over, make Jess understand what the ref hadn’t, and that her father had taken exception to a hug, and now her parents hadn’t so much put their collective feet down as they had stomped them.

Jess wasn’t just _talented_ , she worked for her skills, and she was the best on the team - and sure, it made sense that the scouts would be coming to the final game, they’d only want the best players, but that Jess would be overlooked because she couldn’t attend, that she’d miss this opportunity...

It wasn’t just unfair on Jess, it was disappointing for Jules as well - if she did get through, she’d forever have a feeling nagging at her, that Jess should have gotten through as well.

She wasn’t just annoyed at Jess’s absence because Jess always made Jules look good - although she did, she was precise with her passes and had a way of understanding the gameplay to time those passes to maximum effect that bordered on brilliance - but because Jess deserved to be talent-scouted more than anyone else, given the herculean effort she’d had to put in to even be on the team in the first place.

It was hard not to groan as Mel’s pass was intercepted - hard not to imagine that Jess would have made it better - but there was nothing for it. Jess couldn’t be here, and Jules would just have to do the best she could by herself.

She brought her hands to her face in frustration, groaning, and took the opportunity to pick up one of the hairs that had made its way loose from her headband.

One goal down, that’s fine, she told herself. That’s fine. You can get a goal yourself, you’ve seen Jess do it twenty times this season, you’ve done it before, you can pull it off this once. This is fine.

It wasn’t fine.

They kept it at one-nil, their defence running ragged, strikers falling back to help the midfield - Maria and Dani running damage control, Sue alternating between giving them the numbers advantage and getting in the way - and while it was running down the clock, it wasn’t helping even up the score.

Jules needed someone to pass to her, or someone to pass _to_. She saw Maria running in for a tackle, and started to lead into some space--

And then one of the opposition was on the ground, grabbing at her leg, calling “Ref! Ref!”

Jules barely held in her derision - did the girl think they’d somehow become the men’s league? - and then indignation as the penalty was awarded.

She saw the ref’s arm go up - someone subbing in, presumably - and Sue jogged to go off.

Jules started setting up for the free, toeing the line where they were forming the wall, seeing where she could-- it was _Jess!_

Seeing Jess at any time was a recipe for happiness, with the way she could make it feel like the clouds had parted when she smiled, but on this day, when her presence was not only an indicator of great company but great action about to come? Jules’s cry of delighted surprise wasn’t subtle.

It was good that Jess seemed equally as excited to be where they were. Jules pulled her into a hug.

The opposition were still setting up for the free, and Jules gave her a squeeze for a moment before letting go.

She didn’t ask if Jess’s parents had let her come or if she’d managed to sneak away, there wasn’t time. The important thing was that she _was_ here. She felt Jess’s hands trace down her arms before joining her hand, and she clutched the hand tight as the opposition lined up for the kick.

They jumped as one, hoping to head it away, but it flew over, straight into the goalie’s arms.

“Nice one, Jenny!” someone called, and they scattered applause for the save as the Harriers started calling to each other: _get it out_ , _we’ve got this, let’s go._

This _would_ be fine. This would be better than fine, this would be _good._

Passes to each other, leading into space, they started to carve up the field, a two-girl tornado, working their way to the goal.

Sometimes they didn’t even need to pass - a fake here or there would distract the defenders enough to get past them; the indecision in the mind of someone wondering if the ball was going to still be at the feet of the player they were about to tackle enough to give Jules or Jess the split-second advantage.

The ball bounced off Jess - better than a board, because it would go where you needed it to, not where physics dictated it had to - and back to Jules. They weaved around players, and while it was Jules that had her boot on the ball to send it to the net, if it hadn’t been for Jess, they’d still have been stuck on the other side of the field.

Jules made like the men’s team and pulled up her shirt in celebration as the team screamed, cheering for the goal. Jess was right by her side, slinging an arm across her shoulder as they jumped for joy.

The Harriers weren’t going down, not today.

The whistle blew, and for a moment, it all seemed to be going to - no, not plan, plan implied hard lines, implied a lack of flexibility and ability to react, both of which the two J’s had in spades - going along the lines they’d prepared in training.

Jules passed the ball off to Jess, and made some space - kept herself open to a pass, but also ready to run.

Jess was moving around the opposition as if they were cones - or she was, at least, until another girl collided with her in a tackle.

Hit her leg, didn’t hit the ball at all, and sent Jess plummeting to the ground.

Jess wasn’t a wimp about pain in any way, shape, or form, but Jules had a horrified feeling that the girl who’d tackled her might have hit her on her bad -- not bad, but _troubled_ leg, the one that had given her a twinge or several after Joe’d made her run laps.

She ran to Jess’s side, but she was already trying to sit up. The ref crowded around her with the rest of the players, and Jules tried to convey _buzz-off_ -get-back-to-your-positions without taking her attention from Jess, with moderate success.

“ _That_ was reckless if ever I saw a tackle,” Mel muttered.

“Yeah, ref paid that, she got carded.” Jules had noticed, she would have made an appeal of some sort if the girl _hadn’t_ been given a warning - or at least made Mel do it: as captain, that right belonged to her. “You alright, Jess?”

“I’m ok,” Jess breathed.

“You’re ok?” Jules echoed, a hand on Jess’s back to help steady her as she and Mel helped her to her feet.

“I’m ok,” Jess repeated, a bit stronger.

Jules gave her a pat on the back, took her word for it - though she’d keep an eye out, might have to adjust slightly if Jess’s leg _did_ end up giving her trouble - and jogged back to position, joining the line of players trying to get at the inevitable path the free kick would take.

Jess was their primary penalty-taker for a reason: she was accurate, she was _consistently_ accurate, and more than anything, she kept calm under pressure.

But looking at her now, she seemed distracted. Maybe her leg _wasn’t_ fine, maybe she’d knocked her head and was having trouble with her vision.

Jules looked at Jess, and wished she knew that Jess’d pull off what they’d done a thousand times before, hoped that the scouts would see her - Jules had done plenty in the first half, and she’d already had a goal, it was Jess’s turn, now.

She kicked, and it went off to the side, far _too_ far, and it was out of her hands, Jules could only watch the ball - it would be close, sure, but it was still too--

The ball curved. She’d put some spin on it, messed with the physics and where it would end up, not just the projectile motion they did in school but proper stuff that took wind resistance into account, the sort of move you could only pull off with months of missing, and then more months of hitting.

They’d joked about Jess pretending to be Beckham, but with a kick like that, Jules wondered if the man had died of a sudden heart attack five minutes ago, and his ghost had possessed her.

The keeper dived; the ball found the back of the net.

The whoop of cheering that went up - from the team, from the crowd, from Jules’s own throat for the sheer _audacity_ of the kick was immense. Jess had thrust up one arm in celebration of the goal. Jules grabbed the other one, pushing it up as well - that goal had been a miracle and a half, she deserved all the recognition she could get. Maria and Dani got under her, balancing her on their shoulders, and the rest of the team gathered around, hugging each other, hooting wildly.

The ref’s three whistles to signal the end of the match barely cut through the noise of the cheering. Those who did hear it redoubled their efforts: Jess had just won them the match.

It was a team game, obviously, but if Jess hadn’t made that kick, it would have been a draw, it would have gone to shoot-outs - and no one can really say they won satisfactorily on shoot-outs.

Jules felt a jolt as Lou and Sue hiked her up on their shoulders, carrying her over to Jess. they clasped hands in victory - the two goals had come from them, after all - and, laughing, cheering, they were carried back to the dugout and the waiting Joe.

Someone - Jules didn’t see who, but suspected Dani - had thrown half their water on someone, both to cool off and get another squeal.

“When do we get the trophy?” Maria asked, loud over the hubbub.

“When it gets engraved, now, ladies, _ladies,_ ” Joe said, faux-serious. “Settle down.”

The laughter subsided, though the good mood remained.

Joe stuck out his lower lip, a caricature of a demanding coach. “Not bad,” he affected, before breaking out into a grin. “That was good. That was _so_ good, I’m so proud of you all.” He paused, looking around at them all, making sure everyone had heard him, that everyone believed him.

“Let’s hear it for our first goalscorer--”

Jules burned with pride at the call. Joe gave her a great big smile, and once it would have sent a flutter through Jules’s heart.

Her heart _was_ doing somersaults inside her chest, but it was a combination of the adrenaline, the awful knowledge that the scouts along the sidelines had just sized her up and that even her best might not be good enough, Jess giving her hand a squeeze when they were both up on their teammates’ shoulders, the adrenaline running through her still from the game, the high of the win.

Joe gave her a nod to continue the talk. “Our _miracle_ goal-scorer and very own David Beckham--” she didn’t get to finish, everyone was giving another cheer, this time for Jess, who deserved it, who deserved the world.

Jules grinned at her as she gave a loud cheer of her own.

Jess looked down, shrugging slightly, as if trying to deflect the -- not compliment, _acknowledgement_ , but the big grin gave away her happiness.

“And to the _winners_ of the two-thousand-and-two Women’s football league!” Jules capped it off, clapping her hands and giving another cheer as the players erupted into noise.

She caught Jess’s gaze and grinned.

They settled after a while, and Joe laughed. “All right, you girls. You stink. Go on, off with you. Get changed.”

  * \--



Their shirts actually weren’t that bad. Dani sprayed deodorant around the room - to the protestations of everyone - and there was another spontaneous round of cheering, the fact that they were champions hitting some later than others.

Jules suspected it’d hit her sometime when she was in the car.

Jess needed to get back to the wedding she’d ditched from as soon as possible, and everyone set about with great delight making that happen - Mel helping re-arrange the hair that had half-fallen out in the ruckus after the game, Maria reapplying the makeup that had become smudged with sweat. Jess took it all in good humour, having changed out of her uniform and into the blouse and - underskirt? - that went under the sari.

Her friend Tony, who’d driven her to the game, had dropped the clothes in a bag outside the changeroom, and the rest of the team was untangling the cloth.

They ended up across the room, as if they were folding sheets. “I need that, guys,” Jess laughed, even as Maria waggled a brush in protest at her movement.

Make-up finished, and hair in an elegant style that Jules couldn’t hope to name, Jess stood up. “Ok, guys,” she said, “can you get me that end-- no, _that_ end,” she corrected, pointing.

“Where’s this bit go?”

“No, just-- just wait, it comes later.”

“You’re going the wrong way--”

The whole team was talking over each other, huddling around and picking out the folds as Jess directed the chaos. “This way, and that goes-- Jules can you--”

Jules held the end of the fabric out, and Jess pulled it over her shoulder with a flourish. “Like so.”

They almost didn’t hear the knock at the door, accompanied by Joe’s questioning of whether or not they were decent.

He’d specified her and Jess, which was -- odd, to say the least, if he was about to come in.

Oh.

 _Oh_ , the scouts! A look at Jess’s face told her that she’d drawn the same conclusion, and they gave everyone a wave as they hurried to the door.

“Uh, Jeff, this is Jule-- Juliet Paxton,” Joe introduced them, stumbling over her full name - office purposes, Jules supposed, he’d have to call me Juliet - as the man offered his hand, “and Jess--”

He gave a her a quick glance that told Jules that he didn’t know the name that would end up on any forms.

“Jesminder Bhamra,” Jess said, offering her own, which was shaken warmly.

“Yeah, uh, Jules, Jess, this is Jeff. He’s recruiting from Santa Clara university, in America,” Joe said.

The feeling of nervousness that had formed the pit in Jules’s stomach had transformed into a boiling pot of anticipation, bubbles of hope bursting to the surface.

“California,” Jeff specified, and somehow, of all the things, it was his accent that brought it home to Jules: this was real - this was an _actual scout_ from an _actual_ American university, and they were looking at _her!_

“I was very impressed with you two ladies,” Jeff said. “This isn’t official,” he added, “we’ll need to know that your grades are all good--”

Jules’s A-levels were _fine_ , they weren’t fantastic, but they were good enough, and Jess had spoken about becoming a lawyer or a doctor if she didn’t get to do football with the sort of resignation that told Jules that marks weren’t any sort of obstacle, so they were both covered in that respect.

“--go through a bit of a selection process, but…” he tapped his nose in a universal _just-between-us_ motion. “You’ll be hearing from us very soon. The Broncos are a top team, but a lot of our players have just graduated, and we’re in dire need of girls who can actually find the back of the net.” He nodded, and left, Joe following him.

It took a moment for the penny to drop: being scouted wasn’t just potential anymore, it was something that had _happened_ to them.

“Oh my god,” Jules laughed, grinning at Jess’s face, which was a mirror to her’s.

“Oh my god,” Jess agreed. “We got in!”

“We got in!” That feeling in her chest wasn’t anticipation any more, it was _excitement_ , bubbling through her body and making Jules feel almost light-headed. And Jess’s grins always made her feel like they’d just scaled a mountain together and the sun had come out just for them, like a burst of warmth between her ribs. Their laughter paused for breath at the same time, and they stood there for a moment, breathless and euphoric.

Jess had delight written across her face, and Jules wanted very badly to kiss her.

“We got in!” She repeated, instead, jumping up and down, because the excitement was still running through her.

Jess squealed, and reached up to Jules, who thought she was going in  for a hug, and then Jules’s world stopped, because Jess had kissed her.

A press of lips on lips, and Jules’s heart almost burst from her chest.

Then she was pulling away and, Jess-- Jess looked terrified, as though Jules might be about to push her away, to react with disgust, or worse, and she dropped her arms from Jules’s face, started bringing them slowly down.

Jules didn’t let her get far before leaning in - into the retreating hands -- and kissing her again.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jules heard her softly say.

They broke the kiss, but kept their heads close. “Hey,” Jules whispered, cheeks starting to ache from how hard she was smiling.

Jess giggled. “ _We_ got in,” she said.

“We did, didn’t we?” They-- this made them a _we_ , now.

Reluctantly, they disentangled themselves - Jess was on a time limit and had to get back to her sister’s wedding at the local hall, Jules had to go find her parents, who were probably still off at the stands talking to the other girls’ parents.

“But you should come over,” Jess said. “Celebrate the result, and--”

“That sounds _great_ ,” Jules said.”Yeah.” She looked at herself - still in her uniform, she hadn’t brought a change of clothes - or at least, not a nice change of clothes. She had a shirt somewhere in her bag. “I might get changed first, though.”

Jess nodded. “Yeah.” There was a minute pause, then she kissed her - not like before, just a quick peck, and Jules felt like she might be about to fly into the sky.

Jess ran off to find her parents, and Jules took a moment to spin around before she did the same. _Best day ever_ was right.

She ducked back into the changerooms to put on a different shirt, and then didn’t _skip_ back to the stands, but in some ways it felt like she ought to, felt like the world had become just a little bit brighter.

Her parents ended up finding her, and she shooed them into the car as quickly as possible - the sooner they were home, the sooner she could get tidied up and go out with Jess again.

In the meantime, she had to tell her parents about the scout.

“Dad, I can’t believe it, it was _amazing_ , my eyes just glazed over, what a game for him to see! It’s incredible! Santa Clara! It’s in California, it’s like, one of the top teams! Oh, he even said he could give us like, a full scholarship which means you wouldn’t have to pay _nothing_ , oh it’s so amazing, me and jess there, together, the pair of us - “

Her mum hadn’t said anything. She was a bit weepy, and god, Jules knew that her mum got funny about things, but she’d only started understanding the offside rule a day ago, it seemed a bit quick for her to be crying with joy over a match result.

~•

Hair slightly damp from the shower, Jules considered her options. She had trousers that were on the right side of formal, the problem was going to be finding a shirt that wasn’t a t-shirt.

Her mind flew to the outfit she’d worn in Germany - her sort of go-to looking-good item - but she’d thrown it out after the whole Joe incident.

She and Jess would laugh about that later, she was sure, but while she’d rescued the pictures from the rubbish bin, she hadn’t bothered with the shirt, so it was probably resting somewhere in landfill.

And anyway, that piece wasn’t any more appropriate for a wedding reception than a t-shirt, although for different reasons.

Nice shirt, did she _own_ a nice shirt? She wasn’t going to wear one of the dresses her mum had insisted on buying whenever she needed something approaching formal, that was for sure.

She saw a collar, and pulled what it was attached to out of the wardrobe: white - which was fine, she supposed, as long as she didn’t spill something on it - and a few more buttons than a standard polo. Half transparent, of course, but she had white singlets coming out of her ears, so that wouldn’t be a problem.

Nice white shirt, nice slacks, nice shoes - flats, she’d given the heels to Jess, she remembered, a smile coming to her face as she thought of it.

She grabbed a bag - formal pants, the pockets were enough to fit a piece of paper in, but definitely not a wallet, and if she and Jess ended up going somewhere else, she’d need something to carry stuff in.

She took the stairs two at a time, double-checked that she had her wallet, and called, “I’m off, then!”

Her mother was sitting in the kitchen, she looked like she’d been _really_ crying, full-on sobbing, which was… weird, to say the least.

“Sweetheart, where’re you going? In-- in your best trousers?”

Never let it be said that her mother never noticed exactly what Jules was wearing.

“Out,” Jules grinned, swinging the bag and approaching the door. “I’m meeting Jess at her sister’s wedding to celebrate.” She did a little dance, then opened the door.

Halfway out, her mother called, “Wait!”

Jules turned, looked at her mother. Her mum didn’t normally have a problem with her going out, and they _had_ just won a football game - surely she’d understand that she wanted to have a bit of fun?

“I’ll take you,” her mum said.

It wouldn’t cut down on the travel time much, the Town Hall wasn’t too far, but Jules appreciated the sentiment. Apparently, the decision to support her daughter’s football extended to dropping her off to after-parties.

“Aw, thank you!”

Jules kept talking about the game - she knew she should try and facilitate a conversation, rather than just a monologue, but the future was so close she could almost touch it: a team in America, playing professionally, Jess at her side, all of it within her grasp thanks to a fantastic game that had finished not even two hours ago.

For once, her mum didn’t say anything, even as they pulled into the driveway, where there was a huge crowd gathered, all in bright clothes and throwing petals.

“My god, it’s so colourful! Everyone looks brilliant!” Jules exclaimed. “Look at that _car_!”

It was gold, decked out in a tinsel and flowers - it must have been specially ordered for the bride.

She could spot Jess near the car, and her mum had barely stopped the car before she’d unclipped her seatbelt and ran across to Jess.

She hesitated for a moment - a kiss on the cheek could be passed off as friendship, right? - she didn’t want to make Jess uncomfortable, but Jess pulled her in, and Jules gave her a quick peck, out of sight of the camera that was following Jess’s sister.

“Hey, you,” Jess murmured to her.

“You look gorgeous,” Jules grinned.

The sound of quick, loud footsteps on the gravel turned Jules’s head, her hand slipping down to find Jess’s unconsciously. She’d thought her mum was just going to drop her off and drive back home, but she supposed it made sense, in an annoying way: her mum probably wanted to be a nosy parker and find out what went on at other people’s weddings.

She’d probably be rude about it, too, like the way she’d wheedled “Jesminder” out of an uncomfortable Jess, or the way she’d make comments about ‘exotic’ traditions around the dinner table.

She was stomping towards the two of them, an expression on her face that Jules wouldn’t have expected - she looked angry, her movements deliberately calculated to show maximum stroppyness.

Right, not nosing about in other people’s business. She was mad - about what, Jules couldn’t say - and whatever happened, this couldn’t be good. Jules tried to head her off with a “Mum,” at the same time as Jess tried “Hello Mrs Paxton,” but neither had any effect.

“How could you be such a _hypocrite_ ,” her mum hissed - and while it was nice of her to maintain an illusion of privacy, or at least try not to get recorded on the video, Jules didn’t have a clue what she was on about.

A quick glance at Jess confirmed that she didn’t, either.

“How could you be all respectful here with _your lot_ ,” she was getting louder, the crowd that had gathered for the wedding were starting to take notice, “when _I_ know you’ve been kissing _my daughter_ in broad daylight!”

Well, _shit_. Jess had to keep her _football_ a secret from her parents, they’d probably go spare if they found out about the two of them. She revised that thought: Jess had been adamant that she wouldn’t even be allowed to date a _boy_ if he weren’t Indian - a white girl would be right out. They’d _definitely_ go spare.

And they’d only really kissed once, Jules racked her brains for when her mum would even have had a chance to-- oh. _Oh_. Her mum _hadn’t_ been at the stands after the game - she must have seen her and Jess after they got the news.

“ _Mum_ ,” Jules said, softly, trying to keep it a conversation just between the three of them - this wasn’t a conversation to be having here, not now.

“Hmm?” Her mum was looking at them, as if it were something she could just demand an explanation from, then her eyes focused on something.

Jules tried to work out what she was staring at, even as the crowd lost focus on the bride and started paying more attention to them.

Her mum made an inarticulate noise, opening and closing her mouth, staring at the two of them. “But--” she started to say, and then, much more forceful, “Get your _lesbian_ feet out of my shoes!”

The _shoes_ \- the shoes her mum loved, lent to Jess so that she could have money to buy football boots - the bows her mum had glued on matched Jess’s sari, Jules thought, distant.

So much for her not missing them.

Jess wasted no time toeing them off, even as the muttering started, and oh, god, Jules would never have wanted this for Jess.

“Lesbian? Her birthday’s in March, I thought she was a pisces,” she heard one woman say, and Jules almost lost it there, almost started laughing, the mishearing was a blessing.

“She no Lebanese,” another woman was insisting, loudly, “she Punjabi!”

Jess let go of Jules’s hand, grabbing the shoes.

Jules’s mother snatched them out of her hands, and Jules started trying to push her back - she was in such a state she wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d tried to slap Jess next.

“Come on,” she said, trying to lead her mother by the shoes.

Salvation came in the unlikely form of Jess’s sister. “Do you mind, yeah?” Her words were polite, but her tone allowed for no argument. “But, this just happens to be my _wedding_.”

Half a smile appeared for a moment on Jules’s face, trying to convey _sorry about my mother_ , but she could sense that her mum was about to start up again, she’d already started making noises, so Jules started tugging her away. “Come on, mum,” she said, “just get in the car.”

He mum was clinging to the shoes as if they held the meaning of the universe, and Jules barely managed to catch the words _how could you do this to me_.

She wasn’t _doing_ anything _to_ anyone, especially not to her mother. “What are you _talking_ about?”

She didn’t reply, even as they got into the car, and Jules started to raise her voice, because this wasn’t on, if someone with a better understanding of English had been a bit closer it could have ended in _disaster_. “What the _bloody hell_ were you _thinking_?”

What was she thinking, that she’d just burst into someone else’s wedding, that she hadn’t been invited to, and accuse the sister of the bride of being a lesbian? What could she possibly have hoped to achieve?

“Juliet, I _saw_ you,” her mum said, sounding like she was about to burst into tears again, “with my own eyes - you, you were _kissing_ after your match--”

Jules couldn’t argue with that.

“I’m not _stupid_ , you know,” her mother added, which was bait that Jules wasn’t going to take.

“And anyway, look at the _clothes_ you wear.” The emphasis on _clothes_ threw Jules for a loop. She’d been wearing the same sorts of clothes for years, she’d only kissed Jess a few hours ago.

“ _Mother_ ,” she said, attempting to sound reasonable, but sure that her anger was still carrying through, “just because I wear _trackies_ and play _sport_ does _not_ make me a lesbian!”

Otherwise the entire football team would be, and Jules knew for a fact that at least two of them had boyfriends.

She wasn’t sure that even kissing Jess made her a lesbian - that ill-advised crush on Joe had been real, and she could list of any number of boys she’d not mind kissing. There was a similar list of girls, sure, but she was pretty sure _lesbian_ wasn’t the word for that.

A flash of realisation suddenly struck her: her mum didn’t think that their kiss today was their first one, she thought that they’d been going out for… probably months.

She probably thought that fight they’d had had been some kind of breakup.

Which was funny, in a way, because the whole debacle in Germany and subsequent drama had served to make her realise that it wasn’t just Jess she was jealous of for kissing Joe - she was just as jealous of Joe for kissing Jess, which had been a lightbulb moment, to say the least.

But either way, her mum had the wrong end of the stick for sure, and she wasn’t going to get any peace at home for the few weeks before she went to America if her mother thought she _was_ a lesbian.

It wouldn’t be that big of a deal to keep kissing Jess from her own family as well as Jess’s - they’d had enough practice dodging around with the football. Jess could probably give her some pointers.

Jules massaged her temple as she spoke, as clearly and unambiguously as possible. “Me and Jess were fighting because we both fancied our coach. _Joe_ ,” she added, looking towards her mother, who had gone suddenly quiet.

“Joe?” Her mother said, softly. “What, a man, Joe?”

Jules bit back a sarcastic, _No, I’m using a crush on a_ Joanna _as evidence that we’re_ not _lesbians_. “Yeah, as in _male_ ,” she said shortly, “Joe, Joe, our _coach_ , Joe, _man, Joe_.”

She realised she was almost shouting, and half expected a _don’t take that tone with me, young lady_ , but her mother seemed too in shock to notice - she just gave a soft, “oh.”

Her mother’d had all sorts of ideas about who Jules liked for her whole life, but it seemed like she couldn’t deal with any of those suspicions being confirmed.

And lesbian or not, Jules wasn’t sure she could let the implications of the comment slide. “Anyway,” she added, “being a lesbian, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Now that her mother seemed to have solid ground beneath her, she was right back to her put-on veneer of being accepting and good-natured. “Oh, no, sweetheart, of course it isn’t.”

She didn’t say, _as long as one of those lesbians isn’t_ my _daughter,_ but Jules heard it just the same.

“No, no.” She sniffed, once, the last of the tears evaporating like spilled water on the hot August pavement. “I’ve got nothing against it,” she lied, staring straight ahead, pretending to concentrate on the road. “I was cheering for Martina Navratilova as much as the next person.”

 _Bisexual_ , that was the word - Martina Navratilova had said that was what she was. Jules filed that away for later, while struggling not to roll her eyes.

Her mother had made it clear that she wasn’t going to be able to deal with even the thought of her daughter kissing another girl, that’s all there was to it.

Jules shut the door to her room and didn’t come out until dinner.

Her dad had made sausages. Jules was torn between doing the stereotypical teenage thing and playing with the mashed potatoes and peas, and wolfing it down while giving her mother the cold shoulder.

The latter won out: she _was_ hungry.

“America, hm?” Her mum said, intent on conversation. “There’s a lot of boys over there, I’m sure.”

If Jules rolled her eyes any harder she’d be able to see her brain. Her mum had swept the whole incident under the carpet in her mind, now the status quo had returned to her mother’s eternal quests: find Jules a boyfriend, find Jules a nice bra that made her look like she had cleavage, find Jules a dress that she’ll actually wear.

“Maybe if you find a nice one we’ll be able to set up another place for Christmas,” her mother said. Jules could feel her pointed stare as she deliberately avoided eye contact and took a sip of water. _No screaming matches at the dinner table_.

“America’s an interesting place,” her dad said, trying to cut through the tension. “I’ll have to make you a list of all the weird foreign foods they have, get you to try them.”

Jules tilted her head towards him in question.

“Their chocolate’s different,” he began, counting on his fingers, before he was cut off.

“Yes, but you won’t eat too much of it, will you, poppet? Wouldn’t want you getting fat like me.”

“I’d have thought you’d be all for it,” Jules replied, in an innocent voice. “Given you’re constantly going on about how my bra size isn’t big enough.” Jules stabbed her sausage with more force than strictly necessary.

“Yes, well,” her mother said, making no effort to tack on an end to the sentence, or a rebuttal to the comment.

The cutlery clacked.

`•

It would only be a few weeks, Jules told herself. Only a few weeks, and then they’d be in California and wouldn’t have to hide from her mum and Jess’s family and they could play football and do whatever they wanted.

Lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, Jules took a breath. Only a few weeks.

A knock on the door turned her head.

It couldn’t be her mum, she’d have just barged in. “Yeah?”

“Can you open the door, Jules?”

Jules did, finding her dad with his hands occupied - each holding a mug of hot chocolate.

He held one out to her, and she took it, stepping aside to let him in.

“You ok?”

Jules squinted. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her dad gave a chuckle. “No, I mean, I’m over the moon about the America thing as well, but I meant-- with your mum. What she was--” he cast about with his free hand. “At dinner.”

“Yeah,” Jules said, automatically. “I mean, not… alright-alright, but. I mean, I wasn’t expecting much.”

He nodded in understanding. “Your mum can get a bit...” he trailed off, not qualifying the statement, but Jules knew.

“Yeah.” She wasn’t going to cry. Her mum was being an obstinate cow, and what she said didn’t matter, anyway.

Her dad reached over, patted her on the shoulder. “You know I’m proud of you, right? And-- and I don’t just mean with the football, although that’s-- that’s pretty great.”

Jules gave a laugh, almost spilling what was left of the hot chocolate.

“I mean it, Jules. You’re a wonderful kid, you know? And-- and as long as you keep doing your best, at whatever you decide to do, I’ll _be_ proud of you.”

Damn it, she _wasn’t_ going to cry.

Why was it that her dad’s approval meant so much more than her mum’s criticism?

She pulled him in for a hug, not trusting her voice to be steady.

“I’m going to miss you, Jules,” he said, “but…”

She pulled apart to look at him.

“If you’re going to be with anyone, over there, I’m glad it’s Jess. She’s not too bad herself.”

Jules gave a smile, blinking back the tears that were forming behind her eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”

  * ´



There was a tap at the window.

Jules sat up, and stared at it. Dark outside - the sun had set - and she was a floor up.

As soon as she decided she’d imagined it, movement caught her eye, and there was another tap.

Someone was throwing tiny pebbles at the window.

She rolled off the duvet and walked over to the window, opening it and sticking her head out.

The night air was cool, it had been getting colder as the summer wrapped up. She looked down to see a figure near the streetlight, who looked to be gearing up for another throw.

It was hard to tell in the dark, but there was only one person Jules could think of who would be throwing rocks at her window _and_ wearing a sari.

Jess gave a beckoning motion: _come down!_

Jules gave an over-exaggerated shrug: _how?_

Jess started walking towards the house, out of the light of the streetlight, and Jules panicked for a moment - if her mum answered the door, she wasn’t sure it wouldn’t end in actual violence - and then Jess was illuminated again, this time by the light spilling from Jules’s window.

“But soft!” Jess grinned up at her , “what light through yonder window breaks?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jules laughed. “Are you seriously going for the Romeo angle?”

“I had to study that bloody play for _six months_ ,” Jess replied, “come on, this is the only time it’ll ever be practically useful.” She paused. “What did your parents say? About America?”

There was a hitch of hesitation in her voice, and Jules felt a great swell of heartache for her. After all this effort, surely her parents wouldn’t have stopped her going?

“Yeah,” she said, “they’re pretty thrilled. Or Dad is, anyway. Mum’s been making noises about me finding a nice American boyfriend.”

Jess was grinning. “I knew they’d have to let you. I mean, if _my_ parents could be convinced, I was sure you would, but knowing’s different to--”

“Wait, your parents said yes?”

Jess nodded, grinning. “It’ll be the two of us.”

Jules wanted to throw her arms around Jess, to kiss her until they were both breathless. _Their_ future.

“I still need to tell Joe,” Jess added, and Jules felt a burst of - pride? Affection? - _something_ that Jess had told _her_ first.

“Tell him _good luck winning next year without us,_ ” Jules joked.

Jess grinned, her teeth gleaming in the light. “Sure will,” she said, then gave a cautious look towards the front door - checking if Jules’s parents had noticed.

“I’d better go,” she said, stepping back towards the footpath, before adding, “I’ll see you in the park tomorrow? Give the boys one last thrashing before we have to go?”

Jules gave a wave and a thumbs up. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> i've got a post on tumblr
> 
> [here](http://rowingviolahere.tumblr.com/post/150812390489/title-so-many-glories-in-store-how-could-you-be) that you can reblog if you'd like.
> 
> please drop me a line in the comments if you liked a particular bit ~


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